A new look for an old, icky room ...

Though the complete history of our house remains a mystery, there are a few things we have been able to determine with a fair amount of certainty:

• Our land once belonged to the Winnebago Indians;


• Our land and all that surrounds us was later settled by a family named Phillips;


• An American Foursquare was as common to home design in 1890 as a split entry home was back in 1970;


• Our home was once heated with wood and the person who removed the wood stove is rued by me to this day;


• The kitchen was an add-on, sometime between 1940 and 1960;


• The bathroom was last remodeled circa 1960. Note the then-trendy pink cast-iron sink pictured below, and


• We have given this property more TLC in the past 2 years than it has seen in a coon's age.

When you walk into the bathroom, you'll probably notice an immediate sag to the floor. We attribute the sag to aging floorboards, and thus forgive it. (It seems we all could benefit by being forgiven the minor consequences of age.) Less forgivable was the plywood cabinet, the aged laminate that was chipped and scorched, and the wretched flooring that cried out to be covered.

Because bathroom remodels can be complicated and costly, we postponed this project until we felt we could plan it right, meaning we could bring the space significant improvement without having to tap into credit. (Sorry Mr. President).

For us, the stars began to align last summer when one of Handy's customers discarded a perfectly fine ceramic sink and toilet. Being a born recycler, two items destined for a landfill ended up instead in our garage, awaiting completion of a plan. Earlier this winter, we found a remnant roll of attractive vinyl flooring. A light bar came to us from a re-use center in town. After pricing out new tubs or resurfacing processes, we decided to be at peace with our pink tub. That left us with only one piece of the puzzle to place: a cabinet/countertop with the angled edges to allow us to move confortably past the sink to either the toilet or the laundry, which is tucked into a cove at the far end of the bathroom. We quickly learned that standard cabinets had become very costly and custom cabinets were beyond our reach. Well, not quite...

Actually, we put Number Two son on the task, the son who had previously built benches, porch swings, Cupolas, napkin holders, maple cutting boards, and other furniture. Tommy is studying cabinetry in school and was generous enough to put in overtime in the woodshop to craft this beautiful oak cabinet for us. He also built the counter and installed it all. We are so blessed he shared his talent with us.

Custom cabinetry by Tom ... he may not care about this as much as I do, but by adding his craftsmanship to the old farmhouse, he just became part of its history.

A beautiful new bathroom ... and no bank loans required. Sorry Mr. President!

A sloshy step outdoors...

Late winter on the farm can be a messy proposition. Rather than plow, we let our February snowfall settle in place, trusting that above freezing days, south winds and sunshine will return the yard to the faded browns and greens of dormancy. This means we get more puddles in the driveway on sunny days like today, which means more mud picked up on boots and, well, paws...

Farm dog would have been a mess to reckon with after a romp across today's thawing landscape, we reminded each other as we stomped our own boots to shake off mud. Time allows us to set grief in its place; we miss Farm dog but our floors now stay clean.

Hubby and I pruned Row 8 today, bringing us to the halfway mark in the vineyard. My pruner isn't quite cutting it (pun intended) and so tonight my wrist is throbbing. Hubby's pruner, meanwhile, disappeared in the vineyard. You'd think between rows of green grass and black mud we could spot an orange clipper lying on the ground. But no. I bet if we don't find it the lawnmower will.

March is within arm's reach now. March, the month that gives us more daylight and calls for the return of Spring, is on the doorstep, muddy paws and all. I can't wait to welcome her in.

The saddest of all days at Four Cedars...

Leo Buscaglia wrote: "The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, and becomes nothing." I would add that the greatest risk in life is opening your heart in order to give and receive love. There's no riskier business than love. Yet without love, there is nothing. Nada.

If you want to put love into universal context, you really only need three letters: GOD. Love in its purest state is God in relationship with us. Entire faith traditions are based on this simple premise. God equals love.

Ironically, if you want to boil love down to its least common denominator whereby it defines a perfect relationship between a being and its master, you still only need three letters: DOG.

They are the same three letters.

If you follow this blog with any frequency, you've met Farm Dog and you probably know he met with some trouble yesterday (see previous post). We had hoped for the best for our beloved dog, but it was not meant to be. It is with great sadness and a broken heart that I share this news.

Farm dog will be euthanized (mercifully) and then cremated. His remains will be returned to us so that his ashes may mix with the fertile soil of the vineyard near Lynn's memorial flower garden. I suppose we will add a statue of a dog to set near the angel that already keeps watch over the vines. It's good for a vineyard to have both a guardian angel and a watch dog!

All who met Farm Dog loved him as much as we and so I expect the pain we are feeling today to be shared by many. The loss of one so loved, even a beloved pet, can be very painful. Love that is lost hurts. But as I said earlier, opening your heart to love is a risky thing.

"The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, and becomes nothing."

Without love, there is nothing. Nada.

Pulling for a perfect pooch...

Farm dog turns 50 in just a few months. Fifty in people years that is. Like the rest of us, his age is showing around the eyes and in the amount of time it takes him to stand from his much-preferred position of full recline. He's also not as quick out of the shoot when chasing varmints, but he still gives the sport his best.

I learned that large dogs age more quickly than small dogs from the chart in the veterinary office where I left farm dog this morning. Pooch was outside yesterday exploring the area when he encountered some trouble. We're not exactly sure what happened, since pooch is fairly reserved and doesn't complain much, but the evidence of hind-leg lacerations and a dislocated hip (diagnosed through X-ray) indicates that farm dog got pushed into the ditch by a passing car. A ditch was where hubby found him yesterday after repeated calls for his return went unanswered. Farm dog currently is unable to walk.

Farm dog is a resilient companion and we're all pulling for him to get back on his feet soon. He's an old dog and a good friend. He may come home a bit lame, but at least he'll come home. At least, that's today's hope.

Farm dog just one week ago keeping us company in the vineyard.